First Snow - Flash Fiction

Picture is "December" by Zoe Persico and can be found on her website at http://www.zoepersico.com/Illustrations

First Snow

            My recliner is by the front window.  I was in it reading a great book by Samantha Bryant when I noticed dime sized snowflakes danced their way to the ground in the porch light.  It was about nine PM. 

            I dog eared my place in the book, sorry Sam, and reached up and turned off the reading lamp.  In the flickering flame of the gas-powered fireplace, I pushed back on the soft cushions to enjoy the snowfall.  Already it was beginning to accumulate.  I muttered, “Well, well, looks like we are going to get that white Christmas after all.”  The weatherman had been teasing us with the forecast of snow for the past three weeks with no results.

            I snapped the recliner closed and retrieved my camera from the charging cord on my desk.  After I flicked off the porch light, I opened the door and popped a shot of the snow.  The auto-flash went off and lit the flakes brilliantly.  I laughed.  On viewing the picture, it looked like my great-granddaughter had scribbled on black construction paper with a white crayon.  I kept the shot; come summer, no one would be able to guess what it was.  I turned off the flash, opened the f-stop, and took another picture.  Perfect.

            I turned off the fireplace and went to bed.

            Oh my, it was chilly in the house the next morning.  I pulled the covers up to my chin, stirring up Davy, my nine-pound Havanese stretched out along my side.  He is genuinely the Velcro dog the bred is reported to be.  He decided it was time to play and nipped at my hand and jumped on my chest, sticking his nose in my face.  Maybe he thinks halitosis is a treat source.

            Davy stirred me up enough to climb out of bed.  I immediately hit the bathroom heater switch and took care of the three S’s.  Donning a pair of sweat pants, a T-shirt and socks, I headed downstairs and let Davy out.  It was pre-dawn, but the snow lit up the surrounding area.  One leap off the porch, Davy in his white coat disappeared into the two-feet of snow on the ground.  Like a dolphin at Sea World, he appeared then went invisible again, twice more until he made his way over to the bare ground behind the Laurel hedge next to the house to do his duty. 

            I called him in.  Davy leaped to the porch and plowed through the lighter accumulation to get inside.  He gave a vigorous shake to clear his long hair and started dancing around on his hind legs.  I gave him his reward from the treat jar.  He dashed off to the living room to eat it.

            By the time, I finish fixing my oatmeal, the sun peeked over a distant hill of our gated community where the plots are planned to provide optimum use for the family and preserve the natural landscape.  I was one of the first to build there.  At first, I was a bit miffed when the house on the hilltop next door went up.  It didn’t spoil the view as much as I thought it would, although I put a lot of effort into clearing thirty trees on that side of the lot to enhance the countryside view.

            I dumped a cup of diced peaches in my oatmeal and headed back to my recliner to turn on Fox News.  It was interesting to see what was going on in the alternative universe.  

            I heard a squeal. I turned off the television and directed my attention to the house next door.  Kids were piling out in their winter gear.  Their dad, Mr. Evans, had pulled out their sleds and snow disc last week in anticipation of last night.

            The kids took no delay in putting them to good use as they furrowed through the snow on their toys and slogged back to the top to do it again.  Their young Irish-setter made his way down the hill after them popping out of the snow like a salmon climbing a dam ladder.  I could see he was a smart pup.  At the bottom of the hill, he got into a track one of the kids made and worked his way back up the hill without having to break his back.  The kids at the top, ready to slide down the slope again were exasperated with him waving their arms and yelling for him to get out of the way.  Of course, he didn’t get out of the way until he reached the top.

            One girl took off, and the setter followed sliding on his belly behind her all the way to the bottom.  I wish I’d had my camera out for that one.  That was it for him.  After climbing back up to the house again, he dashed over and scratched at the door.  Mrs. Evans let him in.

            The kids were hardier and played all morning.  I remembered when my kids played on the same hill, and years later, their kids came up from the city and did the same.  Now the Evans owned the hill, and I’m glad for it.

            What can I say, the first snow is the best time of winter.

FEED - Flash Fiction

Picture by Tracy Dinnison

Feed

“Sweetheart, you do cut a dashing figure in that suit.  Of course, I told you that when you put it on in the room on the first day of the convention.”  Sybil dangled a cigarette in her fingers, not looking at Ralph as she spoke.

“You look mighty fetching yourself, my dear. Honey, you have to put the thing to your lips for me to light it for you.”

“I know.  I know.  Isn’t that Mr. Peterson, the convention organizer in the window seat? “

Ralph turned his head.  “Yes, it is.  He’s with Mr. Brunt, the English scientist that came up with all this nonsense.”

“I don’t know about that.  He made a compelling case for the hybrids in that last lecture.”  She sipped her martini.  “Tomorrow is the last half-day for the convention, right?”

“Yes.  Pricing and financial options will be laid out.  I don’t know.  This genetic stuff sounds pretty heady to me.”  Ralph caught the eye of Peterson and Brunt, raise his glass in a mock salute and sipped.

The pair raised their beers in return and went back to talking.

“Listen, Ralph.  I want you to be open minded. Even if what they offer is a quarter more expensive, we would come out ahead.  Not only us  but the whole cooperative.”

#

Sibel waited in the back of the hotel after putting their bags in the twenty-foot flatbed trailer.  She had put on her ankle length lightweight all wool flannel in maize with a leatherette belt cinching tight her eight sized waists.  It was a new outfit.  Although she called it an ensemble, it only came with a matching scarf.

Ralph came down the steps out the rear of the hotel clipping a strap of his green bib coveralls and tossed a bundle in with the bags.  “Thanks for leaving me a change of clothes.”

“Your welcome.  How did it go?”

“I bought a thousand bags for the cooperative, Bermudagrass Hay, Alfalfa and Ryegrass.  Manage to get the price down to only ten percent over normal pricing. I told them if it works out the coop will endorse them for the rest of the country next year. I feel pretty good about it.  I hope it’s as insect, blight, and mold resistant as they say.  We’ll save most of the crop this next year.  A lot of ranchers lost stock because the cooperative ran out of good feed.”

Sibel nodded and climbed up on the running board and grabbed the seat rung.  “Okay then, let’s go home and let the folks know.”

Ralph climbed up on the tall International and toed the starter button and the big diesel came to life.  He let it idle a bit and slowly closed the compression relief and levered off the hand brake and pulled down the throttle lever under the steering wheel.  The big tractor eased out on the road and accelerated up to 20 miles-per-hour.  People followed closely until they cleared the town.  Then six cars roared by.

Sibel shouted over the tapping of the engine, “We coming back next year to the Stock Feed Convention?”

“Yep, Sweetheart.  I reckon we will.”